


Peaceful mind

by narcolepticfish



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, Oneshot, Post-Breath of the Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcolepticfish/pseuds/narcolepticfish
Summary: A hero's story will never end with peace, for he who is destined for greatness must endure the repercussions of his awful deeds, no matter if they were performed in the service of good.Link, the Hero of Hyrule, feels these repercussions every day.





	Peaceful mind

Link had never truly been at peace, ever since he first had his fate foretold. An old woman, back and shoulders curved, hair and fingers spindly, had shouted at him from across a marketplace in the square. “Young boy!” She called. He hadn’t known she was speaking to him, for there were many people in the square that day. From what little he can remember, he was visiting with… someone. Whoever they were, they were close to him. He knew this because approaching the woman meant leaving their side. But there was something about her that made him look. “Child with the golden hair!” Made him look twice. She called again, “Yes, young one, you.” She crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. “Listen to this. Listen to what I have to say – it may save your life one day.” He came closer, edging away from the safety of a crowd. She was huddled under the shade of a pale blue cloth, shrouded in the dark. It was midday, but she was almost too dark to see. She seemed to be smiling.  
When he was close enough to see the patterns on the cloth above her – a swirl of birds and elephants, camels and lizards – she opened her maw, revealing a row of blackened, rotted teeth, and spoke:

“He who seeks only fame and greatness,  
achieves no wonders of the courageous.”

Her breath misted towards him in a cloud of invisible stench, and he had to cover his nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

“For the one that finds the will to fight,  
even when lost hopeless in the night,  
will gain the power, wisdom, courage,  
to defeat the evil’s black, his scourge.”

At this, she raised her hands, her bangles chiming, and revolved them around each other. Between her palms formed a small dot of lightness, glowing underneath her chin. 

“This be the boy of golden locks,  
his competence; pandora's box.”

Now he was afraid; the story she was telling was one of hardships, he wanted nothing of her tricksy words. 

“Aided by innocence and lightness,  
the goddess’ chosen forthright young highness.”  
She who seals the blight away,  
who will, for hundred turns, see not light of day.  
Morning, night, morning again,  
still she waits. She misses the rain.”

He did not understand what she meant that day. He had run away, the ball of light she had been weaving in front of her fading into nothing as he retreated to the safety of his person’s arms. He still did not understand for many nights after, when he dreamt of her blackened teeth and bulbous hands, protected under downy quilts. What had any of it meant?

Now, sitting up in bed, birds chirping their twinkle-song, sunlight greeting him in, playfully poking through clouds, he felt more at peace than ever before. He was in a moment of lull, when he was neither sleeping nor awake, and his head rid itself of all thoughts.  
But then he was brought back to reality by something that would plague his dreams til, he thought, the day he died. Screams. He shot out of the blankets, snatching his mighty sword off his table in the same motion as leaping out of bed and down the stairs, tying his hair into a knot on his way out the door. A scream echoed again from within Hateno village, and he urged himself faster. The sunlight nearly blinded him as his footfalls became crunches against grass instead of thuds against planks, vaulting across the bridge outside his home. He crested the hill and turned left – towards the entrance of the town. 

A third scream clanged through the quiet as he skidded to a halt, and found two male Hylians, trapped between three red monsters. The men were terrified, the monsters open gobs breathing in their fear, egging them on. Link shifted, launching himself into the air, bringing his blade straight toward the ground from behind. His sword pierced through the spine of the one closest to him, and the others only knew Link was there when their malicious friend was gurgling on its own blood. He turned, parrying a strike from their rudimentary weapons, and surged forwards, spraying their thick insides around the green grass. The third one was upon him from behind, but he turned in time, slashing across its gut as it leapt towards him. 

This species of red monster should be dwindling in number now. He had killed a very large number of them. To find three, this close to the village, was something of a rarity. 

“My Goddess…” one of the men said. Link remembered they were there. “Thank-thank you, good sir, we-we are forever, um, in your debt.” They both looked more sick than grateful. Link merely nodded, wiping the back of his hand across his chin – something wet was itching there. He left the bodies to decay into a cloud of purplish gunk, as they always did, walking back towards his townhouse. 

Sometimes he thinks that the villagers placed him near the entrance on purpose, more of a guard than a citizen. 

Not that he minded. They were gossips and dressmakers, farmers and cobblers – not the hardened soldier-folk of the Hyrule of one hundred years ago. Though, he supposed, there were no creepy old women lurking in the shadows, ready to traumatise young boys. 

Stepping back into the threshold of his house, he realised he would have to, once again, wash his tunic. The blue, somehow, never tarnished – it probably held magic of some kind.  
He shucked it off and dropped his bloodied sword by the doorway. 

Link’s house was one of finery and neatness. Maybe an offspring of his rigorous routine as a soldier, maybe a coping mechanism to ward off unwanted thoughts – whatever is was, he always had his house in a tidy manner. 

He also, did a few things he thought odd. But no matter how many times he noticed his own odd actions, he did nothing to change them. He set his table with two plates. Two cups. Two jugs. Twos. Interesting, he thought. That the woman talked of threes and threes and threes, when his life only ever came in ones and twos. Two cups and plates and jugs – yet he was alone. Why had he set two in the first place?

Ah yes, of course. 

He knew who he was meant to save. Though his memories had vanished, sometimes the smell of a certain place would trigger a flash of colour in his dulled mind. An instant of something good. It always brought a cheeky grin and flowing hair, holding hands and cool breezes on hot days, dandelions and dog’s tails, pictures of all lovely things.  
He knew her name.  
Zelda. The princess. The holder of the power. The one who sealed away Calamity Ganon one hundred years ago, sacrificing herself to save her people, and to give Link a final chance to wake, and save both her, and everyone. Hylian, Goron, Gerudo, Zora, Rito – all relying on him to wake up after his restoring slumber, and return their lives to normal. 

 

And he had done it. 

 

“Link...” Zelda murmured as he climbed up the stairs, “One morning, we’re going to wake up because we feel fully rested.” She groaned, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.  
He came to rest his head on her shoulder, taking his seat beside her. The bed creaked beneath his weight, a mass of muscle. She grinned at him lazily, and he closed his eyes, memorising that curve under his eyelids. “Ew.” She said, still grinning, running her fingers through his hair. “You need to go clean yourself up.”  
He almost purred at the touch. How long had it been, since someone had touched him? When he had first saved Zelda from damnation, she had hugged him so tight, and for so long, that he thought she might just weld them together. And it was such a perfect thing, to be held by her, that he had wept.  
“Go on, you’re getting gunk on the sheets.” She pushed at his shoulder a little bit, and he went limp. She laughed, and pushed again, but he just flopped further on top of her. “No! You have to get clean!” She laughed, then he pressed a kiss to her cheek, and stood. He still said nothing. He wondered if it got on her nerves at all, that he barely spoke. Maybe it did, but he doubted she would tell him.  
He stepped outside. The sun, once again, blinded him, but he shielded against it with his hand. He never knew when he was supposed to feel at peace again. He doubted he ever could. But maybe, someday, when the picture that hung on his wall reminded him of his friends, not his failures; maybe, someday, when the sound of crows hawking didn’t sound like Death’s knell, rocking; maybe, someday soon, the feeling of cool water on his face on a hot day, and the feeling of someone braiding his hair, and the softness of a sheep’s downy wool, would remind him that not everything is hopeless and cruel. He might once again rejoice at the sight of a rising sun.  
He will, someday, realise that he is loved, and he can love, because the blight is gone. Because he is not alone, not ever. And his hardy fate, whispered by an old woman, has already come to pass. And that he is here, now.  
He looks toward where the castle stands, being rebuilt anew. There are dark clouds turning towards him, and a round of thunder rolls over the hills from far, far away. He smiles, if only just a little. Zelda will once again feel the rain, and pandoras box is now closed.


End file.
